Before I begin let me say that I was really touched and encouraged by the extensive and eloquent reviews I recieved for the last chapter! To know that people are enjoying and having an emotional connection to the story means the world to me. For each one of my reviewers, I will send you a message to personally thank you that is more in depth than what I can write here. And to everyone who is still following this story, please keep reading as I promise it will get more exciting LOL. In the meantime, I hope this chapter does not disappoint.
The phone number remained on his desk , anticipating his next action.
In the evening, Anderson sunk into his chair weighed with the strange significance of what he was about to do. He seldom had personal business like this, and the private nature of the act made it even stranger to him. Only he and Enrico knew of this arrangement. If he did nothing, he would be only accountable to his own conscience.
That was if the number worked.
Anderson dialed, glade green eyes skimming back and forth from the piece of paper to the buttons he poked in with a cloddish finger.
A moment later his ears were boxed by a eerie set of 'brrings'. Then another set. Then another.
How long should he let it ring? Anderson thought tensely. One more time? Three more times? Seventy seven times seven times?
A muted click.
"Good evening Father." Maxwell's ambiguous, perhaps disinterested tone filled the line.
Regardless, Anderson was glad to hear it. "Gude evenen son. How hae ye been?"
Maxwell decided the place and Anderson decided the time , but presently Anderson felt his 'choice' of time had been an illusion. It had allowed him to believe the present , past and future were distinctly separate and controllable, when they constantly interpenetrated and swept him along. The days leading up to now had blurred together with brutal swiftness and this date imposed upon on him like an ambush.
They were meeting again.
The priest waited on the outside steps of the Gallery Bourgese. He had arrived five minutes early. The muesum's complex white façade contrasted strikingly against the bombastic expanse of blue sky. Thankfully it was not the tourist season , so he did not have to endure the staggering hordes of sun ravaged visitors. Anderson smiled at the few children that had peered at him as they passed and then saw Enrico was approaching him. Enrico was clad in charcoal trousers with a matching blazer and a wine colored shirt.
The young man stopped a few steps below him. They inhabited a brief silence as if deciding what tone to take.
Maxwell smiled pleasantly . "Bonjourno Teacher."
"Gude afternoon Maxwell." Anderson smiled back. "Yer on taime taeday."
Maxwell's expression soured . "Why wouldn't I be?"
Anderson decided to change the subject. "Why did ye want tae meet ere?"
"It should be quite obvious Father." Enrico strolled past the priest, ponytail trailing charmingly behind him like a dancer's ribbon. "We are going to go in."
Anderson followed.
At the entrance booth, Anderson put down the price for two adults on the counter.
With an annoyed pointed look, Enrico pushed Anderson's bills aside and paid for himself.
The entrance hall was bright, ornate and sparsely populated. Anderson's eyes encompassed the enormous domed ceiling and moved to stare at the winding staircases of each floor which compromised an grandiose spiral. The marble angels perched on the supporting pillars stared benignly back down at him. Surrounding them was a low vibrating garbled sound of other visitors like the subtle tunings of an orchestra.
" You may recall that you would take us on various outings like this when we were children." Enrico said.
"Heh." Anderson murmured. "Sae ye'd thought ye return teh favor?"
"Not particularly. I enjoy these places" Enrico retrieved a pair of brittle looking spectacles from his jacket pocket.
"Ah didnae ken ye needed glasses." Anderson remarked with light surprise.
"Oh." Enrico straightened agape as if he had been called out on a embarrassing tick. Ducking his head, he tipped the glasses up the bridge of his nose." Not very often… just for reading and such things." He muttered.
Anderson took in the sight with mild satisfaction. He secretly approved of people who wore glasses for the simple reason that he also wore them .
They ascended up the flight up of well-worn marble stairs. From where the point they started, they walked from piece to piece.
Maxwell stopped in front of a painting of two women in a pasture. One was adorned in a white abundantly flowing dress, the other was nude, one arm draped in a red cloth luxuriating on a marble water filled sarcophagus. The woman in white held a vase of jewels and the nude woman bore a small torch. In the middle between them was a pensive cupid whose hand was submerged in the water as to reach in or stir it.
Anderson remembered the painting from somewhere "This wan is quite famous isn't it?" .
"Yes and it is also one of my personal favorites. Titian's Sacred and Profane love. The bride on the left is being assisted by Venus and Cupid to the right .One woman represents earthy love, and the other love that is spiritual and everlasting . " Enrico said in a soft reverent hush as if they were before an altar.
"Its nice." Anderson commented.
Enrico looked at him critically.
They continued their way down the gallery.
"Have any of the pieces struck you?" Enrico said
"Ah can't say yet." Anderson said.
As they turned the corner, they passed a wooden sculpture of 'Christ as the Man of Sorrows.
Anderson stopped before it.
The Christ's head was tilted on the smooth pale specter of his neck. A crown of hideously sharp black thorns encircled his forehead. Blackish blood droplets oozed forth from it and encroached His deep brooding brow and somber wet eyes. The rest of His features were wrenched, frozen in an eternal groan. His hands with its touchingly tapered fingers and small translucent fingernails hovered delicately over His limp and sunken chest in a gesture of supplication. The rag between His legs pulled and slipped down around His deep set hips. Somehow the sculpture hard inert material espoused with beautiful clarity the substance, depth, and texture of yielding mortified flesh. The Christ looked alive, human- too human- as if it were about to moan and weep before them.
Anderson stood transfixed .
"Boot tha wan makes meh feel sumthang teh most. " He announced.
"Yes, it is true- to each his own." Maxwell spoke absentmindedly. "One's peculiar taste reveals so much about him."
As they walked further down the gallery, it seemed the art had become more vivid, realer than the visitors themselves. They had become vague and indistinct, phantoms passing through worn curtains.
"I hope you haven't forgotten your promise Father. " Maxwell said.
"Ah dunnae furget mah promises." Anderson stated.
"Neither do I." Maxwell paused acerbically. " Rather, like the works that surround us, they certainly are memorable. Yet they can also be considered quite fragile."
'They same tae beh holden oop alrite" Anderson glared at the boy for the subtle jab. "Sae. Are ye gaen tae ask meh wat mah favorite color is ?"
Maxwell bat his eyes behind his spectacles. "Why? Do you think it is important for me to ask you that Teacher?"
"Cuild beh." Anderson grunted. "Ye nevar know dae ye?"
"Very well Father ." Maxwell cleared his throat. "What is your favorite color ?"
" Green." Anderson answered.
" Having obtained that piece of vital information, I think we can move on." Maxwell said dryly. " Actually, the question I intended to ask was how did you join the priesthood?"
It was a good question, but it was best to keep his response short and vague. "When Ah was a youth in Scotland-" The priest began.
"You say you said you were from Scotland, but you never said where in Scotland." Maxwell interrupted. "Such details can be important."
"When Ah was a youth in Edinburg," Anderson clarified with slight irritation. "Ah had joined the seminary directly frum mah public schoolen. A visiten priest saw mah potential. Ye might remember Father Renaldo- he wuild visit Lukes frum taime tae taime After Ah completed mah seminary education ,Ah did sum missionary wark wit him abroad. Later, Ah was transferred through his referral tae Rome as Ah had an opportunity tae steward an orphanage and school. Teh auld priest who had stewarded it had passed on. Ah had the rite qualifications, Ah specialized in teachen, and it was sumthang Ah wanted tae dae. And tha was tha. "
"Yes I do remember Father Renaldo from his various visits. " Maxwell inquired. "After all these years, you two remain close?"
"Ye cuild say tha." Anderson nodded. "Hes a gude man."
"Why did you join the priesthood?"
"As Ah see it, it wasnae by any deliberate decision Ah made. Ah was called by the Lord tae this vocation. All Ah did was Ah chose tae follow tha path He intended fer meh."
"It was that simple ?"
" Tha simple."
"But if you weren't called to be a priest , what would you have been?"
Dumbstruck, Anderson ticked his head. "Wat kind o question is tha."
"What kind?" Enrico mused. "I suppose it would be called a hypothetical one."
"Pass." Anderson said with a brusque gesture.
Now Enrico ticked his head. "Pass?
"Aye, pass." Anderson repeated.
"We never agreed to have' passes', did we Teacher?" The young man uttered the word 'passes' with quiet disdain.
"Nae we didnae, boot shuildnae Ah hae tha right tae pass a question?" Anderson grumbled.
"Very well." Maxwell clasped his finger tips together to form a pyramid. "Then I shall grant you three passes, but I also grant myself the right to revoke one pass."
"Then yer only given meh two." Anderson said dourly.
Maxwell pursed his lips, displeased. "Fine. Four."
"Generous o ye." Anderson grumbled.
"May I ask you why you passed on that question in particular?"
"Ah'm nae in teh habit o answeren hypothetical questions ."
"Then may I attempt to restate it in a fashion more in-keeping with your habits?"
Anderson sighed, already exhausted. 'Ye can try."
What is your obligation to your charges?"
" The foremost obligation is tae teech mah students tae abide in teh way of the Lord."
" You achieve this by how?"
"By any meens necessary."
"But not by answering hypothetic questions I see?" Enrico purred.
"Fine." Anderson huffed. "If God hadnae o called meh, Ah'd guess Ah'd still beh a teacher. Ah like tae wark wit the young and lead them in the rite direction. Ah'd might o made a decent librarian." The priest thought of himself hopelessly disorganized with his books and grimaced. He imagined something he was much better at, digging diligently in his garden, his flowers blooming with charming predictability . "Or a gardener maybeh. Ah always considered mahself haven a bit o a green thumb. It's a bit like teachen, helpen thangs grow tae their full potential-"
"You'd prefer the quieter professions then. Nothing glorious and lucrative, nothing especially ambitious? " Enrico interrupted Anderson again. " A simple life."
"Glory? Lucre? Thas ambition ill used." Anderson scoffed. "Peace, gude service and privacy are more far valuable these days."
"I've noticed. " Maxwell said. "You seem to be very private person ."
"Than we share tha in common, dunnae we?" Anderson said.
Maxwell eyes rested on him with enigmatic significance. "We may share more in common then that Teacher."
The priest was not given the chance to formulate a response . He turned in Maxwell's direction and almost stumbled back as he was confronted by a gigantic painting of a nude woman.
The woman wore a lascivious smile and deceptively chaste pink flush on her cheeks. Her breasts were round, pendant, lovingly painted to a rosy bud of a point. She lay on a bed, serpentine limbs and fleshy curves enhanced by their lopsided languorous pose like that of the fluid solidity of melting candle, thighs slightly apart under a sheet. The sheet was being yanked away by an mischievous boyish Cupid with golden wings. To the side was two jovial looking infants holding an arrow and testing against a stone. Anderson's eyes darted away from the composition to glimpse at the label: Danae.
Anderson knew it was prudish and parochial to be discomfited at nudity in an art museum where everywhere the human body had been reduced to an aesthetic object for public enjoyment. However for Anderson art served a greater function then an aesthetic one. It deferred, externalized and dignified the principles of religion and morality. Nudity was acceptable to him as long as it was done tastefully and glorified the human body as God's work. If thinking this made him a parochial prude, the priest thought grumpily , so be it. Yet the content of this particular painting fulfilled neither one of Anderson's prerequisites . It was 'playful', powdery and prurient (also pagan) and clearly served no high purpose or much of a purpose at all, Though many could defend the piece on the mere basis that it was a work of art, but it would be apparent to anyone with common sense the artist hadn't had art on his mind.
Anderson caught a glance of Maxwell from the corner of his eye. He was surprised. Many young men would blush, giggle, or ogle such an painting but Maxwell stood before it , unflappable, and unfazed as any veteran appreciator. He might as well be looking at a bowl of oranges.
"What do you think of this piece Father?" Maxwell stroked his chin.
Anderson turned away and adjusted the glasses on his nose. "Pass."
As they meandered towards the end. Anderson said. "Ah wasnae expecten a day trip and a tour . Ah spent longer than Ah thought ."
Enrico folded his glasses with a crisp click, and put them in his jacket pocket. "Then you must be a appreciator of the arts also?"
"Aye, Ah must beh!" Alexander Anderson, appreciator of the arts! Anderson chuckled at the absurdity of the title. "Ah did enjoy mahself taeday. Ye dae ken a lot aboot art. Its quite impressive. "
"Well." Enrico took a small bow." What can I say about that Teacher?"
"Wate'er ye plaze. "Anderson chuckled.
Saying nothing else, Enrico gazed at him intently.
Anderson stared back dryly.
"Wuild ye like tae meet again son?" The priest was frank.
Maxwell's stance remained still, his lips unmoved. Then he turned.
" If you wish to continue our discussion" He slyly glanced over his shoulder. "You know how to reach me. Good afternoon Father. "
Before Anderson could answer, Maxwell had started to walk away.
"Ah'll call ye tomorrow evenen ." Anderson called. "Thas's a promise ."
Wide eyed, Maxwell twisted his head over his shoulder again. He grimaced, as if baffled at himself for doing so and rushed away with an elastic snap. His figure became slender gathering of lines as he ventured out through the door out into the light.
Anderson wondered if Maxwell was going to meet someone else.
It was about a week and a half later that Maxwell and Anderson met again outside of Corte Elegante. Since then, the weather had taken an unusual drop in temperature. The priest watched clouds of fog eject out of passerby's mouths like the passing puttering exhaust of cars. As he waited outside, Anderson ruminated about the afternoon at the museum. It had been strange but overall had went well. He could not concieve how this afternoon might transpire.
"Ye look pale." Anderson said when Maxwell came out. Paler than usual Anderson thought. The boy's pallor was bluish alabaster as if he had been carved from snow . "Hae ye eaten son?"
Enrico ran a hand over his eyes, sighing. The faint hollows under them matched his pale violet irises. "No, I have no appetite in the morning."
"Then wat dae ye dae tae rouse yerself?"
"Humph. I had a coffee and a cigarette as I usually do." Maxwell grumbled.
Anderson brow knit disapprovingly. "Thas a nae proper way tae start the day Maxwell."
" Regardless of how I start the day Father, I find it starts itself." Enrico's indifferent shrug transitioned into a congested cough into the cup of his hands.
"Yer comen doon wit a cough- and yer still ingesten tha poison?" The priest chided. He laid a hand to steady the young man's convulsing shoulder and by impulse, plucked the fabric of his black coat between his thumb and forefinger. The fabric was too light, too thin between them.
Anderson's eyes widened incredulously. "This material is fer the wrong season. Dunnae ye hae a proper coat?"
In response, Enrico scowled.
Anderson shook his head disbelievingly and flung his coat off to drape over Maxwell's shoulders.
Like an reflex, Maxwell jerked away, arms tight around himself. "No! I won't take your coat Teacher-" He sucked the frigid air between his grit teeth. "Not even if I was naked and freezing!"
Blinking, Anderson looked downwards in an attempt to conceal his dumb astonished hurt at the boy's response. Still holding his coat open he said. "Ye'll freeze soon enough in wat yer in."
Maxwell's expression was drawn and defensive, as if determined to freeze.
Anderson hung the coat over his arm and suppressed a downhearted sigh. "Then at least we shuild git oot of this cauild ."
"Why should we? I'm not cold in the slightest." Maxwell announced haughtily. "In fact I'd rather walk a bit!"
Maxwell took off. Anderson followed but he could not bear to put his coat on as Maxwell had nothing to wear himself. Instead he watched bitterly as the boy tried to conceal his shivering in a brisk uneven pace.
A street later, unable to stand it anymore, Anderson halted Maxwell and gestured to a brightly lit men's retailer those glossy window promised "Affordable Luxury" "Why dunnae we gae in here fer a moment."
"Humph." Maxwell crossed his arms. "I refuse to go in ."
"Suit yerself lad." Anderson said matter-of-factly. "Naebady forcen ye tae gae anywhere boot if ye change yer mind, Ah'll beh inside ."
Not looking behind to check if Maxwell was following, Anderson swung the brassy door open and entered the shop.
The shop was longer and deeper then it appeared from the outside and very well stocked with all forms of apparel, gloves, and leather goods. From his quick surveillance , all the heavier coats were far too decorated and trendy for his liking until he spotted a slate grey coat in the farthest corner. Its clean simplicity that the fashionable find dull was sheer relief to his eyes.
Anderson went to the rack and sorted through it, judging by feel. Sensing someone's stare on him, he looked up.
Maxwell stood there.
The priest resisted the nagging temptation to taunt ' so you changed your mind', or 'told you so", fearing Maxwell might march off in a fit of pique .
Anderson gave Maxwell coat that seemed most proper. "Put tha on."
Maxwell silently, sulkily obeyed.
"Hows tha? Warm enough? Comfortable?" Anderson asked concernedly.
"Yes, the lining is warm." Maxwell admitted with a glum sniff. "and comfortable."
"Does its job then. Fits rite and it has pockets. Always useful." Anderson took a step back to better assess it,
Maxwell leered. "May I take it off now?"
"If ye wish."
Sliding out of the coat, Maxwell shoved it back onto Anderson's arm with a audible huff.
A young dark-eyed diffident salesman peered over the racks. "May I… help you Father?"
"Ye can child. We're buyen this coat." Anderson handed over the coat.
"No we aren't-" Enrico stepped forward.
"Aye, we are." Anderson stated authoritatively and barred Enrico back gently with one arm. Behind him, Enrico's mouth dropped and his eyes blazed affronted. "Take it tae the cashier plaze ."
The salesman appeared anxious and confused but he did as instructed.
The three men bumped their way through the circular racks to the counter like a bumbling troop of wayward pilgrims. Their irregular journey was further complicated as Enrico attempted to maneuver around Anderson's large back to intercept the salesman in front of them.
"No Teacher- I didn't ask you to buy me it-" Maxwell gawked.
" Aye, boot Ah'm daen it anyhow." Anderson blocked Enrico's path with blunt bracing movements.
"But you are being uncouth!" Maxwell sputtered.
"Ah can live wit tha." The priest said tersely.
They arrived at the counter. Ignoring Maxwell's clamor besides him, Anderson took out his wallet from his trouser pocket.
"You're not listening to me Teacher- " Enrico hissed and pointed in his ear. "I find this whole exchange very embarrassing and dishonorable- "
"And letten a young man who hasnae had his breakfast catch his death o cauld is mooch more honorable !" Anderson growled and motioned Enrico away with hassled brush of his gloved hand. "Wats embarrassen is teh scene yer maken in this nice quiet shop. Will ye step back son?'
Flustered, Maxwell stomped back.
Meanwhile, the salesman nervously folded the coat and pretended not to notice anything that was going on around him.
"Dunnae put it in teh box, he'll wear it now." Anderson instructed.
He brought out his credit card for personal spending that he rarely used it, for he was always suspicious of "credit" and did not like having debts preying on his mind. In this moment, time was of utmost importance. In the rush to get it to the counter, Anderson hadn't even had a time to glance at the price.
Seeing the receipt, Anderson's jaw clenched. The coat was far more expensive then he could have anticipated. To prevent Maxwell from knowing that, he ducked his head and encircled a hand around the receipt as he scribbled his rough signature on the bottom line.
"Bless ye ." Anderson said to the salesman when he took the coat .
" I cannot allow this Teacher -" Maxwell muttered.
"Too late, already happened." Anderson promptly tore off the tags then shoved the garment in the Maxwell's open hands."Ye best accept it."
Maxwell stared at it incredulously, then looked up at Anderson.
"Consider it a birthday gift." Anderson said as if to explain.
"But you already gave me one." Enrico frowned.
"Fer next year then." Anderson muttered.
"Isn't that rather premature?" Enrico said dryly.
"Yer a very difficult boy aren't ye?" Anderson grumbled.
Maxwell smiled slowly as if in admission. To Anderson's relief , he put the coat on.
"Teacher, when is your birthday?" Maxwell adjusted the coat around himself.
Anderson brow furrowed. He knew his age (or his rough age around), but he did not know the specifics such as the month or the day he had been born. But then how did he know how old he was?
"Its in June." Anderson said. Somehow that month felt right. "Why dae ye ask."
"Just curious." Maxwell's forehead creased with fastidious doubt. "We never celebrated it."
The priest scoffed. "Why wuild tha matter. " .
"Ye kape butteren tha toast" The older man watched with exasperation. "Ye barely eaten it."
Although Enrico had insisted he wasn't hungry, Anderson had brought him to the nearest café. To spite him, Enrico ordered the most minuscule thing available. Later when Enrico had tried to order coffee , much to Enrico's displeasure Anderson spoke over him and ordered him a honeyed lemon tea instead. It was better for a cold.
Enrico continued his raspy methodical scrapes on his toast. The butter had conglomerated into small pools on its crumby porous surface. He paused in his scraping and looked at the older man.
"I cannot help but wonder Father. Did we never celebrate your birthday because you do not like it?" Enrico uttered.
"Ah hae nae strong feelens either way. A birthday happens e'ery year. It sames frivolous tae made a fuss o'er it, sae can weh drop this subject ?" Anderson grumbled into his teacup .
"Certainly we can." Maxwell said lightly.
They stared at each other.
"But we won't." Maxwell took a teasingly small bite of his toast. . "I wouldn't see how you wouldn't like it Teacher. Usually people do not like their birthdays because it reminds them of getting older. They feel it brings them closer to death."
He propped up his cheek in one hand" But you do not fear death, do you Teacher?"
"Nae." The priest said immediately. This answer came from him, easy, instantly, clear as a song he had heard many times before. "Ah believe in eternal life and Our lord and savior Jesus Christ who shared in humanity so that by His death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil— 15 and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. Hebrews 2:14-15. "
Anderson continued . "Tha and wat is there tae fear? We all must die sumday."
"That seems to be the common opinion. "Enrico smiled with delicate irony. "Certainly there must be an afterlife…. there must be divine justice. There is a Hell."
"And a heaven too," Anderson added.
"Perhaps Father… perhaps." Enrico's eyes dimmed and his wan smile dissipated into non-existence like the steam rising from his cup. "For some reason, Hell may be easier for some to fathom."
"Wat reason is tha?" Anderson asked carefully.
" Oh I don't know." The young man affected disinterest and slid a finger back and forth on the table cloth . "A lack of imagination I suppose
The priest suppressed a frustrated gust of breath from rising in his nostrils. "Tae beh fathomed as wat exactly? A lake of fire?"
"No, not particularly." Maxwell looked down as if he were composing a complicated thesis within himself.
" How would we know we aren't already in Hell Teacher?" He announced.
"Wat." Anderson sat up .
"What I mean to say is" Enrico swallowed. His eyes darted anxiously around the room as if he were seeking somebody, or trying to avoid them. "Wouldn't it be one of the worst punishment conceivable, to eternally, unknowingly relive one's failed life over and over? Theoretically the damned soul prays believing it is heeded by our loving God when it is the only is perceived by the devil. The soul's hope is a false one, and whoever hears them laughs at his prayers, at his inevitable humiliation and defeat? In this scenario, Hell could be here, now, this place. Us sitting in this café."
Anderson could say nothing for a moment. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed over his mouth several times with a gloved hand, frowning in troubled thought.
"Was… this… wat yer were talken aboot at lunch tha taime Maxwell?" Anderson ventured softly. "Is this wat ye think-"
"I thought I was asking you the questions, yes?" Maxwell's voice rose sharply.
" Ye are, boot now Ah'm asken ye a question son ." Anderson's eyes solemnly discerned the young man. "Why dunnae ye try and answer meh fer a change."
Maxwell's mouth and brow lowered sullenly. "Then why should I answer it? What ever happened to reciprocity Father? You never answered my question at lunch, whether there can be no amends for certain wrongs!"
"Ye nevar gave meh teh opportunity." Anderson glowered. "Ye left early remember."
'So I did." Maxwell tapped a testy finger on the table. "But I see nothing to stop you presently."
Anderson sighed and raised his hand. "Let meh git teh check."
After Maxwell had finished his toast and tea, they wandered around the surrounding streets with no destination in mind.
"Fine. Tae answer yer question…" Anderson rested a finger on his temple . "There once lived a priest …"
His voice drifted away as he searched for the right anecdote from some book though he could not remember the author or the title, or whether if it actually came from a book at all.
Maxwell opened his mouth to interject.
"Let me finish." Anderson stopped him with a raised hand. His voice rose as it took in his mind. " This priest. He hated damnation, nae fer himself boot fer his fellow men. He thought tha nae soul shuild ever hae tae endure teh pain o Hell. Sae while he did services fer others, he nevar went tae confession, he did not pray except fer others. He died, witoot proper rites."
Anderson then said. "Wat dae ye think aboot the priest's actions?"
"I think " Maxwell cleared his throat. " The priest's actions implies two things. Firstly that he wrongly believes all men are unsuitable for punishment. Secondly that he identifies with sinners thereby feels a sense of guilt or responsibility . "
Anderson nodded for him continue.
Maxwell did. "Theoretically yes, you could reward someone without punishing, or punish without rewarding, but then the terms would lose its import and significance, and with that, their attendant consequences. Punishment is a far better deterrent against the doing of bad deeds then the mere 'withholding of reward', as rewarding is a far nobler incentive and affirmation of goodness than simply the 'sparing of punishment ' Clearly for the universe to have any systemic order, 'justice' must necessarily exist, yet this priest finds the predicament unpalatable and believes all punishments are equivocally unjust, that in interest of 'fairness' there should not be consequences for misdeeds. "
Enrico gesticulated with outspread hands. "Secondly the priest acts on the grounds that if one is to be punished, we are all obliged to suffer with him . His moral obligation as a priest has been confused, in that he thinks his empathy and priestly duties towards his fellow men somehow implicates him with all his brother's sinfulness. If he were to be responsible for the salvation of every individual , the only outcome of that would be inevitable failure. This is the mindset of an extremely unfit person. "
"Ahh, boot isn't it unfit tae assume that we're hae nae responsibility fer other people around us?" Anderson asked.
"Yes, but the priest's line of thinking may be described as 'we are all responsible for everyone, but I am the mostresponsible'. And why should that be? What does the priest compromising his own salvation accomplish for anybody else? Doesn't that merely point to a sinfully inflated sense of self importance?"
"Is tha wat ye think motivated him?"
"Not particularly. It seems that the priest's supposed issue sounds like a rather flimsy pretense. "
"A pretense for wat?"
" Rather than striving to achieve salvation and risk of God deeming his efforts lacking or insincere, the priest made a conscious decision and committed the equivalent of what only could be called "spiritual suicide", out of cowardice or spite, or an intermingling of both!" Maxwell proclaimed this as if this were irrefutably obvious.
Anderson smiled ruefully. " Sum men thought differently. Sum thought he was a saint."
Maxwell quirked a eyebrow as if to say 'what sort of men?' Instead he said. "What does that have to do with anything Teacher?"
"Yeh priest was misguided in wat he did, boot if he acted wit a heart o sacrifice, repentance and communion wit Christ's teachens, how can we tell wat lay in store fer him. Nae greater love than a man lay his life down for that of his friend. Maybeh it was meant in this earthly life, boot maybe that includes the next too. None of us can understand the wondrous strangeness o God's mercy, as He gave oop his own Son for oor sins, tae manifest that His plan for us is wan of benevolence and love, prior tae oor merit. " Anderson closed his eyes. The image of the Christ of Sorrows glimmered behind them like a distant prophetic shudder, a shadowy star. "The church does not demand we assume tha anywan is beyond salvation."
"But surely some people are." Maxwell said coldly. "Probably most."
"We can't ken tha son. In the parable o the lost sheep, it is said "Sae it is not the will of yer Father who is in heaven that wan of these little wans should perish." Christ died fer all men: Nay, there is not, and never has been, and never will beh a single human being for whom Christ did not suffer, witoot exception. And dunnae furget, many a gude man at wan taime or another were convinced they were headen taewards damnation. Even saints fell prey tae their despair at taimes." Anderson said sagely. "Boot in life, everythang has its purpose. Sumtaimes teh Lord, in all His love and wisdom, instructs us through trials, pains and uncertainties."
" Instruct us… in what precisely?" Enrico inquired hesitantly.
"In His mysteries." Anderson replied.
"In His Mysteries? " Enrico repeated it slowly, as if he were sampling it on his tongue. He sneered as if finding it not to his taste. "In His mysteries."
"Huh" Maxwell looked away. "I should like it better if you were instruct me in some of your mysteries Teacher."
"Mah mysteries? There's naethang tae spake there. Ah'm an open book." Anderson huffed.
"I would say more an epigram." Maxwell muttered under his breath. "One comes to mind- Profound words signifying nothing."
The priest turned to Maxwell, face stony and fixed with offense. "Ah heard tha young man."
"I am sorry Teacher." Maxwell sighed and bowed his head. " The issue that I have, is that your lessons, well meaning as they are- seem to consistently dissolve into a unsatisfactory concession to unknowingness or some generalized statement. They have no resonance, because it contains not a vagary of personal meaning."
"Wat dae ye expect lad?" Anderson snorted. "A hand written autobiography?"
"You did say you were a open book Father." Maxwell raised an eyebrow. With his slender hands he pantomimed the opening of a book. "and yet just when it is about to get interesting…"
Maxwell slammed 'the book' shut with a sharp clap.
"Ah'm not obliged tae tell ye everything am Ah?" Anderson grumbled.
"No, you're not obliged to tell me everything, " Enrico rolled his eyes and implored him with a swoop of his hand. "but surely you could tell me something!"
"It sames ye haven't been listenen." Anderson said gruffly. "Ah've been open wit ye- wit the added benefit o mah insight."
Then I would like more openness with a little less insight if you please." Enrico folded his arms.
"Ye can't separate teh two."
" Then you may wish to specify what you insights are, and where your openness begins." Maxwell replied insolently.
"Shuildn't a clevar boy like ye beh able to tell?" Anderson smiled.
Maxwell eyes slit at him . "One supposes. Then what one of God's mysteries do you refer to exactly?"
"There are many. The mystery of His sorrows for wan."
"Ah." Enrico's eyebrows raised. " You are speaking of yourself presently? "
"Nae, Ah'm not spaken o mahself."
" But I thought you were Teacher- obliquely. " Maxwell mocked.
" Ah wasn't." Anderson grunted.
"Yes what sorrows would you have to speak of?" Maxwell lilted. "You seem well content with yourself."
"Aye, Ah'm quite content -" Anderson sighed" Boot we all ken wat sorrow is. and we can create sorrow in all oor lives, when we furget oor high purposes and mistake wat is gude fer wat is base, and wat is selfless tae wat is self-serven."
"Have you ever done such a thing?"
Anderson thought about it .
"Yes." He answered honestly.
"What was it?" Maxwell's eyes brightened as if he were alerted to some urgent fact.
Anderson stared ahead, frowning. "Personal matters."
"Personal matters?" Maxwell eyes scrutinized the priest as if he were a chess problem. "Do you mean the raising of your children ?"
"O course not mah children-" Anderson retorted.
"Why 'of course not'?" Enrico rejoined. "Why shouldn't there be doubt about that? How is child rearing any different, any more altruistic than any other activity? Couldn't it be an unique operation of self love, a means to indulge someone's delusions of nobility? Say like a vanity project?"
Anderson jolted back as if Enrico had hurled a small and jagged stone at him.
"Ae…vanity project?" Anderson croaked.
Anderson mouth tightened and he squared his shoulders with indignation. He thought raising children was the few things that gave him peace of mind, what right did Maxwell have to pry at his motives? Then there was the implications that Maxwell was making- It was a foolish thing to suggest- not only foolish but mean spirited-
Anderson took a deep breath through his nose and his harsh hot torrent of thoughts ceased. The truly foolish and mean-spirited thing to do was to get angry at Maxwell. What eighteen year old child wasn't self absorbed and fixated on the surface of things? It was like Maxwell looking to the reflection in the mirror to know himself, when Anderson had known for a long time that whatever he saw in the mirror was not him.But that was so charming and frustrating about youth was that they presumed to know everything when they knew hardly anything. Surely, they weren't capable of comprehending his love. Anderson knew did not have to proclaim and protest that his love was real and that it was pure. It was pure as Heaven and as certain as death.
"Nae. It simply isnae like tha child." Anderson eyes softened with tender condescension. "Ye cuildnae understand how a father feels. Vanity has naethang tae dae wit it.'
"No I couldn't presume to understand that Father." Maxwell said coolly. " Perhaps you should elucidate me on the topic?"
Anderson stopped.
"Ah cuildane tell ye if Ah tried." He answered.
To that, Maxwell sighed and clapped shut 'the book' again.
Having walked a few streets they passed by a stall. Anderson bought a newspaper. They sat on a park bench, and divided it into sections and read through it. Later, Anderson folded the paper back up and gave it to Maxwell.
"Ere, it has the weather report fer all week. Cuild beh hepful."
Maxwell took it with an confounded expression. "Thank you for this paper…. And the coat as well. " He spoke awkwardly.
"Bah -nae need fer thanks." Anderson refuted it with a gruff wave. "Jes as lang as ye use it! It's a handsome coat dunnae ye think?"
"You should think so Father. You chose it." Maxwell rose from the bench and studied the sleeves. "But doesn't it look similar to yours?"
Anderson observed it at length. The coat was in many ways like his, long and slate grey (but darker), with matching buttons down its front.
" Ah pose theres a wee resemblance…." Anderson breezed a hand through his hair sheepishly.
" I must say though…." Enrico smirked as he did a graceful model's turn. "It is rather becoming on me. "
"Aye." From where he sat, Anderson chuckled softly . "Not bad."
" Yes… well." Maxwell shifted his weight on one hip to create a graceful tilt to his stance. I should be… going now. "
"Ah shuild too" Anderson stood and extended his hand.
Maxwell eyed it and cautiously offered his own. Their hands caught, clasped and gripped each other's, Anderson's fingers instantly swallowed Maxwell's slimmer ones.
Though Maxwell was much slimmer, and smaller in stature, his hand clenched with shocking power and his thumb plunged into Anderson's palm like a pike.
It then occurred to Anderson that the last time they had shook hands was two years ago, and before that, when Maxwell left his house. A handshake was usually a gesture of greeting. Everyone of their handshakes had been the prelude to a long separation.
Was that why Maxwell gripping his hand so tightly ?
They extricated their hands from each other's.
Maxwell looked down. A light lock of hair had fallen and obscured his face.
"Shall we meet next week then?" Anderson offered quietly.
"Yes Father. " Maxwell brushed the lock away to reveal lips that had turned up slightly. "I should like that."
